By The Rivers Dark
by Kay Taylor
Summary: Midsummer, blackberries and old jealousies. Sirius Black stalks the castle (set during PoA).


"Black," the castle whispers, the name echoing down the passageways, thrumming off the living stone. It creeps through the pipes and air vents, resonating along the staircases, insinuating itself into the heart of Hogwarts. _"Black."  
_  
Severus lies awake after midnight, listening to the castle. The air is cool in the dungeons, but even so he lies on top of the sheets, feeling the disturbance in the air, the ebb and flow of wind on stone. The whispers travel across his skin like the touch of phantom fingers, cool in the autumn night – he's always slept naked, loving the thick heavy feel of the sheets, caressing his skin; so long since real caresses, since someone wound himself around Severus, touched him without fear.  
  
Blackberries are the devil's fruit, rich and sharp. They grow in shady places, brambles creeping in the undergrowth, dark berries glistening with dew and cuckoo-spit. Sirius has been eating the fruit for days now, and his lips are stained deep purple with the juice, the tips of his fingers marked inky black, like a plague victim.   
  
His arms are scratched up to the elbow from the cruel, grasping brambles – he's so weak that the cuts are hardly healing, and the rain makes them burn. The thorns bite at his hair, tangling in the knotted black mass of it. He tried to wash it, yesterday, shivering convulsively as the river washed over his thin shoulders, and the water turned mauve with berry juice and dried blood. He was always a little bit vain about his hair, before; rich and thick and dark, sweeping out behind him in the wind – tangled hard in Severus's fingers, pulling hard enough to bring tears. A harsh back-hand across his face, snatching his breath away: _"Black."_  
  
He can't sleep, of course, and he knows that Black is here; the castle is thrumming with the sound of his name, enough to taste him on the air. It's a moonless night, and Severus walks the corridors by touch alone, feeling the smooth stone respond under his fingers, guiding his way – no wand-fire, no candles. His bare feet make no sound on the stone floors, though he knows their texture and form intimately. Left, right, and right again. Another flight of stairs, the spiral staircase a gaping black mouth. A faint touch of the breeze on his skin, as the castle whispers to him: "Black." He should tell the Headmaster.  
  
He should tell him so _many_ things, but he doesn't.  
  
Black is in the castle, and Severus comes to a lighted doorway, half-open into the dark corridor, spilling warm candlelight into the shadows. From inside, he can hear the low murmur of voices.  
  
Remus is too trusting. He leaves his door open after midnight, in a castle where no-one knows the corridors and secret staircases better than Severus, in a castle with unruly students. In a castle with a convicted murderer on the loose. The whispers are stronger now, coming back repeatedly like the stir of echoes: "Black Black Black _Black_"  
  
And Severus watches as Remus sinks to his knees in front of a tall man, with long, unruly black hair, and pulls layers of rags aside to swallow his cock. The tall man whispers, "Oh, _Remus_", and closes his eyes, carding purple-stained fingers through Remus's hair.  
  
It's like a dream.  
  
_  
  
And he's pulling your hair again, wrapping huge handfuls of it round his fingers, until you're wound around each other, tight as tight can be. He almost laughs when you struggle, because he's got the measure of you – never quite as strong as you look. And so he reels you in, dark eyes glinting hungrily, and you're pushed up against the wall, and you can't breathe. He doesn't care. Neither do you. His lips are so soft, though he's pressing them against yours hard enough to bruise, and he tastes of blackberries, all sweet and ripe, and you're suddenly rocking your hips against him, and he knows you want this. You're so ashamed, but it doesn't matter now, and he's sliding your robes off, stripping you of everything except your red-and-gold Gryffindor tie, which he tightens around your neck. You make a small helpless sound and push yourself up against him, your erection rubbing painfully against the rough fabric of his sweater. "This is wrong."  
  
"I know."_  
  
Black.   
  
Severus stands in the doorway, shielded by darkness and magic, and watches as Remus crumples; his composure ripped from him as the tall, dark-haired man bites at the inside of his neck, making him _growl_. Severus is helpless to stop it, and the knowledge makes him clench his fists, leaving angry little red crescents on the inside of his palms. It wasn't meant to be like this, and even now a word, a gesture from him could bring the Headmaster straight away. It wasn't meant to be like this.   
  
Twenty years ago – in the Gryffindor dormitories. Black has bitten Severus's neck almost hard enough to bring blood, and Severus has collapsed on the bed, breathing hard, unable to put up more than token resistance as Black takes a handful of his hair and pulls it, bringing his head painfully upright for a deep, harsh kiss. And it's wrong, so wrong, but there's no way of stopping it. Black is grinding his hips hard against Severus, and they're both breathing in short, hard gasps. The silencing spells are barely holding up, and Severus knows that Remus is sitting on his bed opposite Black's, looking at the drawn curtains. Remus's little heart must be breaking to hear this, to know what's going on. And Black fastens a sweat-slick hand around Severus's cock, making him hiss and bite into the pillow to keep from crying out.  
  
And now, Severus watches. And waits.   
  
Black will go back to Azkaban for betraying him.  
  
The blackberries are particularly fine that year, and the Forbidden Forest is carpeted with the curling, glossy-leaved brambles, snaring underfoot, coiling up the trees in a prickly embrace. Sirius sits amongst the tall, dark trees, always looking towards Hogwarts. It's cool in the forest, and the other creatures living there have left him alone. So he waits, watching the castle from the cover of the trees, hugging his knees to his chest. His hair is hanging in a rough, unkempt ponytail, after taking a ribbon from Remus's rooms.  
  
It was a mistake to visit Remus, he knows.  
  
He licks the blackberry juice off his fingers, feeling the roughness of his tongue lapping around the delicate pads of skin, wincing slightly as it slides over an old cut. Slowly, he sucks the fingers into his mouth, one by one, feeling them enveloped in warmth, sliding against the slick walls of his cheeks. The stains don't come off, though, and he wonders if he'll have purple fingers until he dies.  
  
Severus watches him from the trees.   
  
Sirius is painfully thin, his shoulders hunched over like an old man – hardly the dashing boy Severus remembers from school. But Severus still watches avidly as Sirius sucks one finger after another into his mouth, because he can remember what that mouth felt like, so long ago.   
  
The blackberries are sweet and almost over-ripe, and they taste of Sirius.  
  
_  
  
And you're almost fighting him, except you're not, and he's tightening that tie around your throat until your vision gets blurry at the edges. He's stroking your cock at the same time, and oh it feels so good, so right, and he's got his hand over your mouth so you couldn't tell him to stop, even if you wanted to. Your head is swimming, and it feels like everything in the world is constricting, focusing in on those long, pale fingers moving around your erection, the gleam in his dark eyes as he whispers: "Black." _  
  
Severus steps forward, letting a pale shaft of light illuminate his features. His lips are stained purple with blackberry juice, and he's the most beautiful thing Sirius has ever seen.


End file.
